


love is like a sin, my love (for the ones that feel it the most)

by blondsak



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, MJ writes Spider-Man fanfic, My First Smut, POV Michelle Jones, Peter Parker is a Mess, Unless you count the smut, and is bisexual, i love that that's a tag, smushing comics canon and movie canon together because of who I am as a person, these are my headcanons just try to pry them from me i dare you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak
Summary: MJ considered pushing him away, asking once more what had happened but this time not taking his head shakes and half-sentences for an answer. But before she could, as usual, Peter beat her to the punch.“MJ,” he sighed, and it was only because she knew him so well for so long that she recognized the dull utterance for the request that it was.That was all it took to find that her own desire to take a risk—to jump headfirst into the unknown—was a temptation she couldn’t ignore, and moreover, didn’t want to.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 44
Kudos: 87





	love is like a sin, my love (for the ones that feel it the most)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you and also HOW DARE to seekrest and Gruoch, who were both massive cheerleaders for this story. You guys eternally enable me and ilu for it. 
> 
> Also, seekrest read but a snippet of this and immediately pegged it as 'hot and heartbreaking', and I stand by that assessment. You have been warned.

With a sigh MJ paused the credits of another episode of the newest _Unsolved Mysteries_ , looking at the clock to see it’s almost nine. She glanced at her phone to double-check she hadn’t missed Gwen’s _I’m downstairs!_ text—smirking when she reread the last few messages. 

**Gwen (7:42 PM):** _I’m heading out soon, you want me to get anything?_

 **MJ (7:45 PM):** _just the wine. got the chips & guac already _

**Gwen (8:02 PM):** _On it._ _Also I was going to wait to mention this til I got to your apt but can you just tell Peter the truth already? Dude spent all last night being a miserable waste bc you couldn’t make it out. Even Ned got tired of it after a while. Harry and Flash are one thing but NED_

 **Gwen (8:06 PM):** _I’m just saying. If your love story were a Spider-Man fic you’d be nearing the 500k mark, and everyone knows epic friends to lovers slow-burns are only exciting for the first quarter mil_

 **Gwen (8:07 PM):** _Yes I read Spider-Man fanfic what about it_

 **Gwen: (8:17 PM):** _Wow. Leaving your loyal, ever-suffering BFF on read just when I reveal something super personal and potentially very embarrassing. Nice, M_

 **Gwen (8:18 PM):** _You two deserve each other istg_

  
  


MJ rolled her eyes, but still the smirk didn't fall. Maybe tonight would be the night she finally confessed to someone that she’s _written_ a few of those epic friends to lovers Spider-Man fics. Besides, if anyone deserves to know first, it’s definitely Gwen—one of her closest friends since they met after living on the same floor freshman year at ESU, and the only other person besides MJ and Tony Stark who had figured out Peter’s secret identity without Peter being a dumbass and accidentally revealing it himself.

Gwen—being one of Peter’s best friends too—seemed so sure that MJ should go for it with Peter… but it just wasn’t that simple for her. For one thing, for as certain as Gwen (and Harry… and Ned… and Flash) were that Peter was smitten with MJ, MJ had yet to see any sure signs of it herself. And even if she _had,_ that still wouldn’t explain why Peter hadn’t made a move yet. After all, it’s not like he’d been hesitant about dating Johnny Storm, or when he’d had that on-and-off fling with Black Cat. 

MJ was observant enough to know that there was _something_ —some type of curious vibes—Peter kept giving off toward her lately. But it could be as simple as a completely uninterested Peter trying to figure out if MJ’s own crush was real and what to do about it—something she was still unsure about herself.

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. Her crush on Peter was definitely real, and something she could easily admit to herself now. But knowing what she wanted to do about it? Not so much.

Part of her hesitancy was in no small part due to the fact that Peter was a superhero who risked his life every day, and—not entirely unrelated—someone who flaked on half of his plans with every single person in his life. Neither of those things would make MJ swipe right at first glance, that was for sure. But all the same, she’d made peace with both of them a while ago. 

No, what really held her back was the fear of living in his shadow. Fear of being cast as Spider-Man’s Girlfriend for the rest of eternity, a footnote to _his_ great life story instead of someone who had a story to be told in her own right. 

Of course, he wouldn’t do it on purpose. But she could easily see it happening all the same. 

Because that was the thing about Peter Parker nobody else seemed to get: he needed a reason for everything he did. A reason to wake up, a reason to fight, a reason to carry on. And MJ was willing to be many things for him, things beyond reason. But _the_ driving reason? Absolutely not. 

MJ was no damsel in distress from 1930s monster movies, or bimbo love interest from old comics. She refused to be placed on a pedestal, or to be put on a shelf and merely admired. She wanted—no, demanded—more. 

No statue of Lady Liberty was Michelle Jones. Nobody, not even Peter, got to perch upon her crown and proclaim their every cause automatically just. 

It’s these thoughts that were circling around in MJ’s mind when she heard the loud thumps at her living room fire escape window. She startled at the sound, only to let out a deep breath when she sees it’s only Peter—setting her phone on her kitchen counter and taking a moment to bury her emotions down before she unlocked the latch and let him in.

“Pete? What are you doing here?” she blurted out, then with an internal grimace at her rather poor choice of words adds, “Not that I mind you coming over, but usually you have Karen call ahead—?”

Peter just stands there unmoving, staring at her through the mask with wide lenses. “MJ, I… I need…”

He trailed off, and MJ frowned. Because this didn’t sound like a Peter who was casually stopping by after a regular patrol to finish their latest crime show binge and beg a pack of instant ramen off her. No, this sounded like a Peter who was utterly lost, and probably terribly injured in some way. 

Worried all over again, she looked him up and down only to gasp when she saw exactly what she’d hoped not to—a tear in his suit along his right hip revealing a deep gash beneath, blood dripping down his leg.

“Oh my god,” MJ exclaimed, giving herself only a moment to panic before immediately taking his wrist and starting to pull him down the hallway. The fact that Peter didn’t protest and just stumbled after her only served to heighten her concern, and MJ bit down hard on her cheek to keep herself from demanding to know what happened as she led him into her tiny, yellow-tiled bathroom. 

“Here, to stop the bleeding,” she said as she tossed a dark burgundy hand towel at him before turning and pulling out the first aid kit she kept in her small linen closet. It wasn’t anything terribly fancy—it’s not like she was making a fortune at 24, toiling away for pennies as a junior editor at the Bugle—but it did have a suture kit, one that might as well have Peter’s name inscribed on it for all anyone else had ever had need to use it. 

Peter didn’t tend to visit after patrols where he’d badly injured himself though, MJ knowing it was because he didn’t want to worry his friends any more than they already were for him, all too aware of the dangers of being Spider-Man. At most it was typically just a few small stitches he could do himself while MJ microwaved his noodles for him and queued up Netflix, not a giant gash like this.

She turned around, about to volley a few more questions at him, only to come up short when she sees his maskless expression. He’s in nothing but his boxers now, in fact—the entire suit in a rumpled pile on the floor. 

Besides the large gash, he was covered in bruises and cuts but she hardly noticed those because Peter looked— _absolutely wrecked_. Eyes puffy, lips trembling, tears mixing with sweat to the point both his cheeks glistened in the bright fluorescence of the bathroom. He had the appearance of someone with nothing left to lose or even worse, who was watching everything he did have about to fall away. That she didn’t know which one it was scared her more than she wanted to admit.

“Peter… what… what _happened_?” MJ asked, only to be met with a fierce head shake as he closed his eyes.

“I…I can’t… I just can’t,” he whispered, voice breaking, then glancing down at where he had the towel pressed against his hip, “I can—I can take care of it myself, if you want to…” He motioned toward the hallway.

 _Oh hell no, you do not get to shut me out now mister,_ MJ thought as she closed the few feet of distance between them, pressing in until they’re standing just inches apart, feeling protective and fierce and tender in equal measure.

“No way, no _way_ are you taking care of this by yourself. In case you haven’t noticed—you’re a mess. And I don’t mean in the usual everyday Peter Parker way.” That got a huff of a laugh out of him, MJ smiling slightly at the sound despite there being no humor in it—in any of this. She waited until his gaze met hers again before continuing, “So this is what we’re gonna do. You’re going to tell me what you need, and then I’m going to help in whatever way I can. Got it?”

Peter nodded back, and they’re standing close enough now that she can see each red vein encroaching on the whites of his eyes, can feel the warmth of his every breath on her cheek.

“I need… I need to for–” He cut himself off, looking down at her lips then, and even knowing nothing about the rest of it, it was very clear to her what he wanted from her now. “Please MJ, please, help me to... “

 _Forget,_ she finished for him, and the air in the room suddenly became charged with an entirely new kind of intensity. Even worried as she was, as much as she wanted to ask _forget what?_ , MJ couldn’t help but start to close the gap between their lips—pausing when they’re just millimeters from his own. It was only due to muscle memory from the months of practiced self-control when finding herself constantly pulled into his orbit that allowed her to stop, glancing up at him in question. 

She wasn’t surprised to find him staring back, but was struck by what was held within the piercing gaze—his eyes holding something that looked like desire but felt far removed from such a mundane emotion. It was an expression that was utterly feral and yet unhinged in a way that had nothing to do with lust. Wherever it came from, MJ recognized it as more primal than anything remotely related to sexual desire could ever be.

She considered pushing him away then, asking once more what had happened but this time not taking his head shakes and half-sentences for an answer. 

But before she could, as usual, Peter beat her to the punch.

“MJ,” he whispered, and it was only because she knew him so well for so long that she recognized the dull utterance for the request that it was.

And that was all it took to find that her own desire to take a risk—to jump headfirst into the unknown—was a temptation she couldn’t ignore, and moreover, didn’t want to escape.

She’ll coax the truth out of him—not to mention psychoanalyze her own dumb choices—after, she decided. The part of her that knew this was a bad idea had no hold when everything was so heated, when something between the two of them was breaking and mending at the same time. Or perhaps it was just Peter who was breaking and mending, who had only happened to land upon her shores. But if that was the case she didn't want to know it yet—would otherwise live in ignorance just long enough to satisfy her own curiosities, her own wants, her own _needs._

Mind made up, she granted him permission not with her words but with her body, leaning in until they were thigh to thigh. For now she ignored the hard length that pressed against her pubic bone, opting instead to put one hand in the soft, sweaty baby hairs at the back of his neck while the other settled across the long reach of his lower abdomen, the bottom of her palm just barely grazing the cinched waist of his cotton boxers.

 _Velvet over steel,_ she thought as she tilted her head and kissed him, first gentle and then with purpose when he answered her in the only way he seemed to be able to, tongue swiping across her lips before plunging into her mouth. The tentativeness soon turned into a battle for dominance, MJ feeling the bloody towel pressed between them drop to the floor as he gently moved his hand to cup her breast before it drifted to her upper arm, fingers drawing patterns there that were at once both soothing and a promise of something more.

 _More_ came only a few moments later, Peter backing her up and out of the bathroom until her back hit the hallway wall. He parted from her just enough to sink to his knees, moving to undo her jeans with trembling, blood-crusted fingers that had no problem lowering the zipper to reveal the tiniest glimpse of her panties but just couldn’t seem to catch on the button.

“I got it,” MJ said, making short work of the chore only for Peter to grip the long sides of the denim just above her knees, yanking them down to her ankles. 

She had been expecting him to rid her of her underwear next, only for her breath to hitch when he grasped the back of one knee and lifted it over his shoulder, mouthing at the fabric over her clit. The thin cotton layer between them caused a sort of tender nostalgia to well up in MJ, reminding her of the timid touches of her first girlfriend, way back in junior high. 

It was somehow more intimate, that he would choose to take his first taste of her through soaked cloth rather than lips to skin. It meant more to her than she had words to say, and she found herself tearing up even as the long wire of love between them crackled with electricity. She let her hands settle in his hair, mindful of a small bruise at his temple even as she ran her fingers through the strands, only to clench them into fists when the suction of his lips went from gentle to harshly demanding, teeth grazing against her just enough to entice a soft moan. 

He raised an arm up then toward her, hand fumbling at her chin before his fingers slid between her lips, bottom knuckles latching at the ledge of her teeth. She coated them with her tongue, tasting blood from the hip gash, right at the place where skin was barely a tissue’s breath over jutting bone.

In one graceful motion he removed her knee from its shoulder perch, pushing her panties down as he rose to his feet and pressed into her with the same two digits that had only moments before been between her lips. He leaned his head into the junction where neck met collarbone, sucking on the skin there just long enough to elicit a gasp, her toes curling at the arousal that the feeling stirred. 

Peter went rigid at the sound and pulled away then, eyes wide and still bloodshot as he breathed out, “I can’t,” before just as quickly shaking his head at himself and diving back in, fingers thrusting in and out as his thumb rubbed circles around her clit. MJ closed her eyes and threw her head back against the wall, trying to force herself to forget the almost-regret that had been laced through his tone… only for her hands to palm his cheek bones with purpose, Peter’s mouth and fingers going immediately still.

Stopping now would hurt, but letting this continue without knowing Peter was all-in would be just as bad, if not worse. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes and look at him even as she said, “Peter, we don’t have to—”

“No,” he whispered against the long cord of her neck, his breath ghosting across where he had just been kissing silky skin, causing goosebumps to rise up across her arms. “No,” this time softer, more tender. “I want this, MJ. I do. Unless—?”

“Me too,” she said quickly, even as part of her remained uncertain—knowing she was missing a piece of the puzzle that would likely explain every single thing that had happened since he tapped his knuckles against her fire escape window not fifteen minutes earlier. But she trusted Peter, and even more, she trusted her gut. Peter was hurting but in this—in _them_ —he seemed certain. 

It was as if her quiet reassurance broke some dam in Peter’s control, the same litheness that made him so dangerous as Spider-Man coming to the forefront once more as he took his fingers out of her only to shimmy his boxers down at the same time. 

“Con–”

“Bathroom drawer,” she interjected, Peter stepping away just enough to pull it open and grab a condom from the stash she kept there. He hastily ripped the package open with his teeth and put it on, before striding back to her with purpose—his arms wrapping around her back and lifting her up. MJ’s legs instinctively caught at his waist as he angled her hips and entered her in one long movement.

There was a momentary tightness as MJ clenched up at the intrusion, only for her pelvic muscles to relax when a wave of pleasure ran through her, Peter moving his free hand back down to continue massaging the sensitive folds between her legs. 

At his touch MJ began lifting herself of her own accord, gripping his shoulders for leverage as she met him thrust for thrust, Peter grinding back into her with alternating twists of his hips, searching for the angle that would send her over the edge when paired with the clever rub of his finger pads. 

Her hands caressed and explored until they moved down to meet steel planes, and while she wasn't one to covet a six pack she still had her kinks. The Rorschach of red smeared across the dark blotches on his abs from his hip wound was no exception when it came to stirring a certain thrill in her gut, and especially when paired with the way he was clutching at her—like he could only take in oxygen if it came from her breathy soft sighs. 

Soon enough the slick, heated rhythm of their bodies felt natural, like they’d done it many times before. In a way they had, MJ supposed—if you counted a thousand long shared gazes in public, countless separate fantasies in bed, and god knows how many illuminating experiences with other partners. It all culminated in a first time that hardly felt like the first. 

Or maybe it was just that good because of the emotional connection they had spent first weeks and then months and now years cultivating, between and around and amongst their close-knit friend group. 

Why it worked wasn't the point though, not right now, and her moans went from quiet and cutting to panting and needy when Peter hit the perfect angle, sliding against the place inside her that always caused sparklers to light up in her mind, tracing tender thoughts across the night sky behind her eyelids.

It was all too much and yet not enough, and her orgasm hit her like a fireworks finale, MJ’s breath hitching as her entire body trembled, muscles clenching around Peter who responded with a gasp that ended with her name. All throughout, Peter’s nimble fingers never stopped stroking across that most sensitive ridge of hers only for his callused tips to catch with the perfect amount of pressure, holding her steady as she fell back down to earth—sliding into a long, peaceful moment of pure warmth and comfort.

She drank the feeling in for every drop she could only to thread her fingers in the hair at the back of his head, leaving soft kisses against his temple and swiping her tongue against the inner shell of his ear until she felt every inch of him begin to vibrate and shudder. She pressed a smile against his cheek as he thrust once more, twice, then a final time before going still—every one of his muscles releasing the tension they carried as he slowly and carefully allowed her body weight to rest properly against the wall.

The heat of the moment that had come just before slowly melted into something cooler, the temperature in the room seeming to drop as they stayed in place as if frozen in time, breathing each other in, neither wanting to lift their head to search out the expression on the other’s face. 

_He’s not looking at you because then it's real,_ MJ thought. Because she had seen the look on Peter’s face when she turned to find him unmasked, had seen the pure energy brewing behind his eyes, just looking for a place to release itself where it would do the least damage. What they were doing here right now—a desperate explosion of months if not years of pent-up emotion and longing—was only the calm before the storm. 

That realization commingled with the lingering taste of bitter iron on her teeth, letting her know that Peter might be _with_ her but he hadn't ever been entirely _here._ His mind was still back in the fight, calculating how he could have prevented whatever had led to this moment. What moves he could have made different. What other approaches he could have taken.

Because he was always fighting _something_ , she knew—his emotions whether lust or rage or desperation or paranoia forever laid bare and vulnerable. And he always fought like he was losing, something MJ had long disliked but never knew how to fix. Of their friends, Gwen and Ned were both better at reining in Peter’s darker inclinations than she was, always had been.

All these thoughts served to remind her that this might not be hers to keep, depending on whatever the truth was that she had let slide leading up to it. It was entirely possible that whatever led Peter first to her apartment and then to her metaphorical bed might be the cause, and not a symptom.

She hoped it wasn’t true, but even more she hoped he didn’t try to hide it if it was. Because the result of Peter always trying to protect everyone he loved from everything—including himself—was a young man who held things in until they came out whether or not he wanted them to, and MJ more than any of their friends hated being seen as someone who couldn't handle hard truths. And _especially_ by someone who—no matter how you looked at it—had his shit less together than the rest of them combined.

Yet despite her occasional bristling she knew they could work through it if they both wanted to, as long as his love never ventured too close to cloying—treating her like a beloved ceramic ornament that would shatter into a million jagged pieces at the lightest touch. No, the breakable she needed him to give her room to be was something more hardened and weathered. The sort that only cracked under certain circumstances, only faltered when pushed to its furthest limits. Heated glass come too close to freezing water. 

_It could be me and you, tiger. It’d be your jackpot, if you let it._

She was about to say as much, only Peter’s lip trembled, and MJ let out a slow breath instead. Here came the storm.

“Fuck. I shouldn’t…” Peter began, slowly sliding out of her and setting her down, hands staying on her hips even as his eyes flitted around at everything but her. “I shouldn’t have—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” she whispered, and then when he didn’t respond, “Peter, look at me.” 

Reluctantly, he did, and she saw his eyes were filled with tears again. “Whatever’s wrong, whatever happened, we’ll make it right, okay? But this, this right here?” She moved her hand from his mouth to his cheek, cupping it, thumb dragging across one of the dark circles below his eyes. “This—you and me—this isn’t something you need to worry about fixing. No matter what happens, nothing broke tonight, I promise. _You_ didn’t break anything.”

She was startled when Peter let out a laugh, looking almost manic, running his fingers through his hair over and over. “Yeah, I didn’t break anything. Nothing at all, just… just—”

He cut himself off, biting his lip so hard that blood beaded at the corner only to run in a single rivulet down his chin. MJ went to wipe at it but Peter ducked away. She watched without moving as he took off the condom and pulled his boxers and then suit back on—MJ noting that his gash had quit bleeding at least even if it was a still a jagged mess—before turning back. He glanced at where she was still naked from the waist down, and MJ felt a powerful defiance rise in place of what might otherwise have been embarrassment. But there was no need for either, not now, not between them.

Finally, after a few long moments, Peter met her eyes by choice. All she could think was that he looked so lost. 

“Stay,” MJ said, nearly adding a _please_ but forcing herself to bite it back. No matter how worried she was for him, or confused—no matter how much she wanted him to say yes—she wouldn’t beg. But all the same she couldn’t help but add on, “You don’t have to be alone, Peter. You have people who care about you, who _love_ you. So—stay.”

To her surprise Peter looked as if he was considering it. She deliberately gave him some space, retrieving her clothes and then walking out into the living room, pulling on first her panties and then her jeans. Only when they were both clothed did she raise her head again, having heard him follow her out.

“Stay with me,” she repeated, the air feeling somehow more charged than it had just minutes earlier, when everything was as simple as hearts pumping blood and hands demanding touch.

She recognized the exact moment when he fell off the knife’s edge, expression breaking apart, soul cracking until it was vulnerable and wide open, all for her. “MJ, before I—you deserve to… there’s something that happened, something I _did_ , something I have to tell–”

The sound of her phone ringing made both of them jump, MJ swearing softly even as she strode over to the kitchen counter where she had left her cell when he arrived. 

“I bet that’s Gwen. _Fuck,_ I totally forget she was coming over,” she said over her shoulder, grabbing the phone. “Oh. It’s Ned. Well whatever it is, I’m sure it can—Peter?”

Her living room was empty, window half-open.

The tide of disappointment rising in her was cut short by another trill of her phone, and without thinking she answered it. “Hello?”

 _“MJ,”_ Ned whispered, his voice hitching, and he sounded so distraught that MJ momentarily forgot everything that had just happened with Peter.

“Ned, what’s wrong?”

_“Harry called. It’s—there was an accident. Down at the bridge. I think Peter was there but now he’s missing but that’s not—he’s not who–”_

He was cut off by a sudden sob, and MJ felt dread tear through her. “Ned? What happened? Who–”

 _“Gwen,”_ Ned said, voice breaking, something in MJ breaking with it—looking back over at the window, desperately searching. But just as before, nobody was there.

_“It’s Gwennie, MJ. She’s dead.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I was and am still super nervous about posting this, so if you liked it, please do me the kindness of sharing your thoughts in a comment <3


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